


Sleeping Over and Abrupt Awakenings

by lizardinlaw



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gay Awakening, Gen, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter Friendship, Movie Night, Sleepovers, but that's ok, harry potter's popcorn making skills, no one reads gen fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:48:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27539419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizardinlaw/pseuds/lizardinlaw
Summary: She beams at him. It turns into a purse of the lips a second later. "Are you going to be alright, or have a breakdown at this revelation?"He wants to scoff. Harry Potter, having a breakdown?It's more likely than you think.-OR: Just Harry and Hermione bonding.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Harry Potter, Implied Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 7
Kudos: 59





	Sleeping Over and Abrupt Awakenings

He realizes, waiting for the bus, that despite living in England his entire life and roaming Magical Britain for a few years now, Harry hasn't really been further than the grocery store before.

Well, there was that one time for Dudley's birthday, at the zoo—but he hadn't actually gone there, he was unwillingly taken along for the ride. If someone was to ask him how to get there, Harry is quite confident he would smack himself over the head with a Disillusionment charm and walk away from that conversation, Trace on his wand be damned.

But it's too late to be getting cold feet now. The bus arrives, Harry stumbles on, whisked away from Little Whinging clutching the little brochure map in his hands like a lifeline.

Two buses, a train, one repeat attempt at the same train but in the other direction, and one final bus ride later, it's taken Harry nearly four hours to get from the Dursley's to Hermione's parents house in Barnet, North London. The crumpled and harrassed directions in his hand say it was supposed to take two.

The house is perfectly charming (#9, Heathgate Street), two stories, and in a much, _much_ wealthier neighborhood than the Dursley's. Harry isn't sure if that should fill him with shame or glee.

He realizes he's spent way too long staring blankly at the door in front of him with his hand outstretched, having an internal war over knocking versus ringing the doorbell. Knocking seems more polite, but then how _many_ knocks is considered polite? He has no bloody idea, he's never _been_ to someone else's Muggle house before! So ringing the doorbell is winning the debate so far, 0-1, it's there for a reason, but what if someone is in the middle of an important phone call and the sound interrupts them! 1-1 then, more points towards just slamming the—oh for Merlin's sake.

He bites the bullet and gives four knocks. There's silence for a few moments, Harry shuffles his feet awkwardly, debating on trying again, before the door finally opens and Hermione's head full of wild bushy hair peeks out at him, beaming.

"Harry!" She says, opening the door wider and stepping forward to pull him into a tight hug. "I was getting so worried— I started penning a letter to see if I could get an owl to track you down, which would have looked totally bizarre in urban London. Are you okay? You didn't get mugged or something did you?"

Harry feels a blush come over his face as she pulls back to look him over and gives a nervous laugh. "Um, so I got on the right train, but I didn't realize it was going in the opposite direction until it was too late to jump off. I made it all the way to Cardiff before riding it back towards London."

Hermione looks at him with pity. "Do you think someone put a curse on you, that causes you to forever have bad luck with trains?" She's referring to third year with Ron's flying car.

Harry forcefully shoves those memories to the side. He is looking away, he does not see them.

She laughs at his constipated look and pulls him inside. "My parents are both at work but I told them you'd be staying over this week." They forego a house tour, taking the stairs up to Hermione's room. She gestures at a nest of pillows and sleeping bag on the floor. "I tried to make it as comfortable as possible, but if it doesn't work we can switch and you can take the bed."

Harry's brain short-circuits. "Wait. We—We're staying in the same room?"

"The guest bedroom was converted into a second office, for my mum, sorry. Do you mind? We've slept in the same room before, at Ron's."

"No, I mean, just," he splutters, "your parents are okay with that?"

"I told them we're practically brother and sister." She pauses. "And that you're my gay best friend."

His heart almost goes all gooey, Hermione _is_ like a sister to him and a rush of happiness fills him to hear her say it, until the second part catches up with him. "Wait, you _what_?"

"I mean, it's not like I was lying!"

"Wh—Hermione I'm not gay!"

"Well maybe not one-hundred percent, but at least _ninety_ —"

"You're such an arse, I'm not, I have a crush on Ginny!"

She just looks at him. Squints. Throws her arms in the air and rolls her eyes. "Ugh! Boys!"

"You don't have to throw it out like a slur."

He gets a wand right in his face for his snark. _Where was she even keeping that?_ "Shut up. _Listen_. First year: Fred and George, helping you with your trunk."

He flushes. "What about them? They were being nice."

"They were your idols. Fine. Second year: Tom Riddle."

He makes a face that he hopes proclaims his disgust. "No, gross. He was a murderer and blood purist, and grew up to be _Voldemort_."

"And he was very pretty, you always say that when talking about him, how can you not notice? Third year: Remus Lupin."

"That is my _uncle!_ " He chokes out, scandalized.

"A hot uncle! And fourth year, Harry! Cedric and Viktor! You had a _crush_ ," she insists.

"I had a, an admiration."

"Do you even want me to bring up your obsession with Malfoy or should I leave you some mercy?"

 _I don't have an obsession with Draco Malfoy,_ he wants to say. Even he knows that one is a lie. He thinks about it, brow furrowed and staring at the ground instead of his best friend, processing. Thinks about how many more times he's looked at men appreciatively in comparison to women. But finding other guys fit was normal, it was a compliment! Supporting your blokes!

But maybe it wasn't quite so common to stare at his teammates in the Quidditch changing rooms? And probably everyone has wet dreams about other guys. He heard George snicker about something like that once, but George also went for either.

He looks back up at Hermione in alarm. "Am I gay?"

"Why do I know this before you?"

"Because you're the brains of this operation," he responds automatically. It's second-nature by this point.

She beams at him. It turns into a purse of the lips a second later. "Are you going to be alright, or have a breakdown at this revelation?"

He wants to scoff. Harry Potter, having a breakdown? 

It's more likely than you think.

"I don't know," he admits, crossing his arms. "Does this mean we're going to do a bunch of girly stuff, like painting my nails and doing my makeup?"

"We would still be doing that regardless of whether or not you're straight and you would love every second of it, you love breaking stereotypes."

Fuck. He uncrosses his arms. "Yeah alright."

They spend the rest of the day in Hermione’s room. She tutors him through some of his summer homework (“You know this is supposed to be review from third year?”), Harry dissects her cassette collection, and Hermione does in fact do Harry’s makeup. Not too much, some blush and mascara and lipgloss, but Harry can’t stop staring at his reflection in a little handheld mirror. Tiny changes but he looks completely different. “I look…”

“Shaggable?” Hermione leers.

“I was going to say I look like a slut, but if you really think so,” he leers right back.

Around five thirty, Hermione’s parents arrive home together and don’t even comment on his makeup, because Hermione’s parents are _awesome._ They eat a pleasant dinner together, then Harry shows off his gourmet popcorn chef skills so they can marathon the _Back To The Future_ Trilogy. The irony was not lost on either of them. Hermione spent the entire time either approving or disproving the time travel theory while Harry goaded her on.

It’s the happiest he’s been in a year.

Later at night, quietly, he does get around to having that breakdown. Not at the epiphany of his sexuality, but a second fact that stems from it. He's hugging his knees, under the makeshift blanket dome Hermione and him make on her bed, two pinpricks of wandlight illuminating them. 

"He was my first crush," he whispers. It's said too loud. Voicing the thought at all is deafening in the silence. "I did idolize Fred and George, but he was my first crush."

Hermione leans into his side, putting her head on his shoulder. He doesn't need to say who, she gets it. She got it before him even, and apparently she's always accepted him in spite of it.

He chokes on the next words, "Does that make me a bad person?"

"No," she says softly, taking his hand in hers and squeezing. "He fooled a lot of people that way."

"But even after, I still— I was betrayed and he used me and I hated him, Merlin I hated him— But even after the _tournament_ —" he bites the inside of his mouth to keep from saying more.

"Oh Harry." She tugs him from his curled position, shuffling them both around until they lie down on the pillows, wrapped up in the comfort of each other. "No, you're not a bad person." He wants to protest that, but she smiles. "The world could use so many more people like you. People who see the dark parts, the ugly things inside of someone and still accept them. He has no idea how lucky he is, being loved by a person like that.”

 _I don't love him. He killed Cedric_. It's like there's Veritaserum on his lips. He can't quite get the words out.

Maybe this is the dark, ugly part of himself, he thinks as his eyes drift shut. "I know I'm lucky to have you," he murmurs sleepily.

"Me too."

It's the last thing he hears before they fall asleep, pile of blankets on the floor untouched.

**Author's Note:**

> (Something small, something deep inside of Harry (the dark part, the unnatural part), has been listening, straining to pay close attention to this conversation, and flutters with the slightest warmth.
> 
> It feels a little bit like it might be in love.)


End file.
